


Arcana

by CaraRose



Series: Arcana [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Death (mention), F/M, Tarot inspired ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraRose/pseuds/CaraRose
Summary: A series of force bond ficlets, each based loosely off a card in the tarot deck.





	1. Six of Cups

**Author's Note:**

> The first of these ficlets, Six of Swords, was gifted as part of the underrated Reylo secret santa. The rest will be published one per chapter in this work.
> 
> I'll be drawing a card from my deck to determine which I'm working on next.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Six of Cups
> 
> Upright: Reunion, nostalgia, childhood memories, innocence  
> Reversed: Stuck in the past, naivety, unrealistic
> 
> "It is a truism that there is violence, anger and mean-spiritedness in the world. Certainly there is enough of this, but there is also much good will and caring. A mother hands a drink to her child. A friend lends his car for the weekend. A worker fills in for a sick colleague. Small gestures, barely noticed, but so important. The Six of Cups is a card of simple goodness. It encourages you to be kind, generous and forgiving.
> 
> The Six of Cups also represents innocence - a word with many shades of meaning. You can be innocent in the strictly legal sense of lack of guilt. You can be innocent of the truth - unaware of some secret. You can be lacking in deceit or corruption - innocent of ulterior motive. Finally, you can be virtuous or chaste. These are all possibilities that can apply to the Six of Cups, depending on the situation."

The single beam light that streamed through the crack in the curtains danced with dust that had been disturbed by his footsteps. It illuminated the darkness enough to show the eerie shapes of the furniture, draped with covers coated with years of dust. A moment of time, a moment of his life, packed up and stored away, left to wait for… what? He didn’t really know.

Why hadn’t she sold it? He couldn’t help but wonder it to himself as he moved through the living room. Honestly, he’d assumed she had, sold it like so many of their things to fund her little guerilla group. That had become the only thing that mattered to her in the end. But her name had come up as they scanned the Chilandrian records for property owned by Republic sympathizers and rebels. Enemies of the Order would have their property forfeit on any world under First Order control. He and Hux had agreed on that part, although he had refused Hux’s wish to imprison or execute the families of said sympathizers. 

He understood the unfairness in being judged by the actions of your family better than anyone.

The compiled list had been sent to him for inspection, the names color coded to show if the person was confirmed or suspected as an enemy of the First Order, as well as alive or dead. Her name, standing out in dark maroon, Leia Organa (Solo), might as well have been a punch in the gut. He’d known of course. The underworld she’d cultivated rattled with the news, and word had spread fast. But he would have known even if they had made an attempt to keep it a secret. Her peaceful passing hadn’t reverberated through the force, as unavoidable to him than his uncle’s calm and peaceful passing after the man’s trickery on Crait. 

It was unfair, the man who he had trusted, his own blood, who had betrayed and tried to kill him, should find such contentedness at the end, while he himself could find only torment. 

There was less resentment in  _ her _ passing. She had found the peace she never allowed herself while she was alive and focused on her causes. So be it. He thought he had come to terms with it.

Then he found himself staring at her name, color coded for confirmed enemy and deceased, and an address that he immediately recognized. Memories of running through the house in his pajamas, his father swooping him to put him to bed. Being scolded after coming in from the beach covered in mud and sand and tracking it through the house. Falling asleep snuggled against his mother’s breast, the arm wrapped around him holding her datapad, a cup of tea steaming next to her on the end table…

No one else had seen the list yet. Not even Hux. It made it easier, he wouldn’t need to explain himself.

He deleted the entry with her name. And called for his shuttle to be prepped so he could go to the surface the next day, much to Hux’s flustered confusion, not that he particularly cared what Hux thought, as long as the rabid cur stayed in line. The Supreme Leader did not have to explain himself, nor tell anyone where he was going, or why. Which was good, he didn’t entirely know why he was going there, just that the urge was too great to ignore.

Walking up to a shelf, he pulled the cover off, dust rising in a cloud around him. Hiding under the cloth the contents were exactly as he remembered. The framed holos of a family that was, at least for a brief moment of time, happy and content.

Heading down the hall, he glanced into the big bedroom, the bed was covered, looking like a hulking beast in the dim light. He’d crawled into that bed, squeezing between his parents, on many so many nights when nightmares had woken him up. 

Nightmares that had never really ended.

Reaching the smaller bedroom, he walked in, pulling the coverings off the dresser as he passed by, then the bookshelf, the bed. He stared down at the small bed, so small that he probably couldn’t fit in it now if he curled himself up. But once he’d fit, he’d fit in that bed and his father had tucked him into it at night. His mother had sat on the edge next to him and read him bedtime stories.

Something next to the pillow, half hidden under the blankets, caught his eye, and he reached over, tugging the blanket back to find a purple and yellow stuffed tooka nestled against the pillow. He picked it up, holding it in his lap as he stared at the toy. It was worn and battered, threadbare in places, restitched in others. The nanny droid had repaired it on more than one occasion for him after a seam had ripped or stitching had come loose.

He had dragged it with him everywhere back then, hanging on to it by the arm, unable to sleep without it. Sitting down down on the bed, he held it on his lap, just staring at the toy, feeling an overwhelming sense of grief hit him without warning.

So overwhelming that he didn’t notice her at first. Didn’t notice the presence and the tug in the force that he’d learned was the warning that he was soon not to be alone. He looked up, startled when he finally realized she was there, staring at him, a concerned expression on her face.

“Are--- are you alright?” he blinked in surprise… normally he had to fight to get a word out of her, she was so insistent on shunning him, shunning their connection. He felt the wetness slipping from his eyes and he realized to his horror that he was crying.

Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, ruler of the fucking galaxy, was crying with a child’s toy held on his lap. He swiped the back of his hand at his cheeks, looking away from her, “It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset, what happened?” she approached him warily. He knew she couldn’t see where he was, but they could see each other and what the other was holding. She looked down at the stuffed Tooka, puzzled. “What is that?”

“A toy,” he drew a shaky breath, “my toy, when I was little.”

Her brow furrowed, still confused, but she walked over and sat next to him. Seeming from his perspective to be sitting on the bed next to him, he couldn’t help but wonder what she was sitting on wherever she was in the galaxy. She reached out poking the nose of the Tooka, no judgement in her voice, no mocking of him and his weakness, “It’s cute.”

He smiled at that, for a minute he sat quietly, before finally giving in to the need to talk, “I’m home.”

She looked at him, puzzled and he did his best to explain, “The house we lived in when I was little… before we moved. I always figured she’d sold it, but she hadn’t, I don’t know why. Everything is the same as before we moved.” 

Her head tilted down, hiding the sadness in her eyes from him, “You… you know?”

There was no need to ask what she meant, “I heard.”

“It was peaceful…”

“I know. I felt it.” He pursed his lips, “I wish I could ask her why…” he looked around the room, feeling the pang of nostalgia and the ghost of the boy he once was. Why had she just covered everything up and left it the same? What had she left it waiting for?

“Maybe she’d hoped to come back one day? And it just never worked out,” Rey offered, looking at him gently.

He sighed, staring at the Tooka. Rey shifted, and he noticed a flash of orange tucked into her belt, he squinted at it, not quite making out what it was. She followed his eyes down to it, “I went back to Jakku.”

Jakku? Why would she… he glanced at her, puzzled.

“Just back to my AT-AT. There wasn’t much left, I figured there wouldn’t be… but I was passing by the system and I just wanted to see…” 

Yes, he could understand that. After all, it was a similar pull that had brought him here.

She pulled the object out of her belt, and he realized it was a doll, a homemade one by the look of it. Dressed like a rebel fighter. He let out a laugh as she held it on her lap in front of her, just as he held his Tooka. “Captain Ræh was still there,” she smiled, “I couldn’t leave her.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement, “Captain Rey?”

“Not spelled the same… Ræh… she was a real rebel, I found a helmet once with her name on it.”

Sighing, he reached over and brushed his finger over the scrap doll, “You made this?” 

She nodded, a small smile dancing on her face. For reasons he couldn’t understand, he suddenly held out the Tooka to her. It felt like he was making an offering of sorts, the way someone might offer something of meaning to a deity. A sacrifice, a piece of himself, of who he once was.

Blinking in surprise, she looked up at his face, as if trying to understand what he was doing and why, before reaching out and brushing her fingers against the toy, but not taking it. Looking down at the scrap doll, she extended it out to him.

An offering for an offering.

Feeling dazed, he reached out, gripping her doll just as she used her other hand to grip the tooka. In a smooth motion each released the grip on their own toy, taking the others instead. He held the scrap doll in front of him, smiling at it.

“Take good care of her,” Rey said, softly, almost shyly. As if she was embarrassed that she held such concern over a doll…

“I promise, and you---”   
  


“I will,” she answered, not needing him to ask. She gazed down gently at the stuffed Tooka. The two of them just sitting there quietly.

Then she was gone. Her and his toy were gone, he was alone in the bedroom, Rey’s scrap doll in his lap. A piece of who she had been.

Standing, he tucked the doll into a pocket in his cloak, then turned and walked out of the house, passed the shapes of the covered furniture, leaving them alone to gather more dust. He’d struck the address from the records that had been compiled, the property should be left alone. Left to just be. For some reason, the idea that it would just go on as it had been, a hidden time capsule, was soothing.

He headed down the beach to his shuttle, the bulge of Rey’s doll in his cloak pocket bouncing off his hip as he walked.


	2. Ten of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ten of Swords
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Upright: Back-stabbed, defeat, crisis, betrayal, endings, loss  
> Reversed: Recovery, regeneration, fear of ruin, inevitable end
> 
> "The Ten of Swords usually symbolises a sudden and unexpected failure or disaster, whereby a power beyond your control crushes you without warning or mercy. Sometimes you will be able to alter the course of this impending disaster but most of the time you will simply have to let go and take the hit. This card can also indicate a time when you have been backstabbed or betrayed by someone you thought you could trust. You feel incredibly hurt and shocked by such a betrayal." -- [Biddy Tarot](https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/minor-arcana/suit-of-swords/ten-of-swords/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been bouncing in my head as the scene that *needed* to be the 10 of Swords. I can't think of any Reylo moment that fits this card better.

_“Join me,” he asked, hand out, trying not to show the desperation he felt._

_She stared at with wet eyes, tears streaking down her face. He had forced her to face the truth, face what she already knew. Her family had done worse than just abandon her. The hope she’d clung to, that she’d refused to let go of, had always been false. She was alone, like him._

_He shuffled forward a few steps when she didn’t move, as if she was a frightened animal he was trying to tame. His heart pounded. He was alone, untethered. Snoke had outlived any usefulness to him, but the need to have someone, anyone, to stand with him, to be an ally in the chaos of the universe, had put off any thoughts of breaking away. But now his master was dead, he had killed him for her. If she refused, he’d have no one._

_“Please,” he pleaded, staring into her eyes. Join me, love me, rule with me._

_They stood there for an eternity, until finally, timidly her hand began to extend towards him. He didn’t move, didn’t dare move, afraid any motion might be enough to frighten her away. She hesitated, he held his breath…_

_Closing her eyes and drawing in a breath, she placed her small, bare hand on his gloved one. He stared down at it, almost disbelievingly, before looking up again. She’d opened her eyes and he stared into the hazel depths—and smiled._

_He didn’t remember the last time he’d truely smiled._

_His hand closed around hers and he jerked her to him, crashing his mouth against hers impulsively. She stiffened, alarmed, before relaxing somewhat into his kiss, though the tension never fully left her. Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead down against hers._

_Not alone. Neither of them ever had to be alone again._

_“I will never leave you,” he whispered as he pulled back, and her eyes widened and shot to meet his._

 

* * *

He jerked awake, the hard, cold metal floor under him. Disoriented.

“What happened?”

His eyes focused on Hux, standing among the carnage, Snoke’s bisected body behind him.

Rey…

She had started to reach out, and he had thought, had hoped…

But instead she had tried to use the force to call the Skywalker saber his hip. Tried to grab a weapon while he was open and vulnerable. Had it just been a ruse? Had she been manipulating him into helping her?

That betrayal cut deeper than the wound she’d carved into his chest and face on Starkiller.

“The girl killed Snoke,” he forced out, stumbling to his feet. Looking around the room, he remembered struggling to pull the saber back to him, keep it away from her. She would either attempt to strike him down or turn and run. Run and leave him alone.

There had been a flash, an explosion, and then nothing.

Where was she? Was she still on board?

“What happened?” he echoed Hux’s earlier question back to him.

“She took Snoke’s personal escape craft.”

He felt as if someone was smothering him. She was gone.

He was alone. Completely alone. He had no one left.

Turning, he walked towards the viewer, the planet the rebels had been fleeing to just barely visible in the magnifier. She had made her choice. She chose the old ways. The rebels, the jedi, she had chosen them over him.

She should have killed him. Instead she left him alive, as if she had cared for him. It would be her downfall. And he would be left with nothing but thoughts of what could have been. What should have been.

“We know where she’s going. Get our troops down to that rebel base. It’s time to end this.” He turned, striding past Hux. It was time for the past to die, and if he had to strangle it with his own two hands, he would. He would see it through until the old legacies were destroyed.

He would see to it himself, alone.

“Finish this? Who do you think you're talking to?” Hux spat from behind him.

He froze, the churning sea of pain and fear and anger being whipped into a frenzy. Did this little pissant dare challenge him?

“You presumed to command my army? Our Supreme Leader is dead! We have no ruler!”

Hux sputtered and he turned, hand out, watching as Hux fell to his knees, grasping at his throat, as if he could pull away the invisible hand that was now choking him.

“The Supreme Leader,” he drew a breath through gritted teeth, “is _dead_.”

“Long,” Hux gasped, “live the Supreme Leader.”

After another few seconds, he released his force hold on Hux’s neck, turning and walking away from the man as he gasped in breaths. The rage that had been churned up by Hux’s insolence was fading, and what was left was a hollow, numbness and fear.

It could have been different. It should have been different. She should be standing with him, not against him. His hand should never have been forced like this.

Foolish girl. He had offered her everything.

Damn foolish girl.


End file.
